


Wish I Was Special

by ineffective



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffective/pseuds/ineffective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski was falling in love.<br/>Well, it probably wasn’t love. That was too big of a word. Love sounded so permanent, so dedicated and serious, and he was pretty sure you actually had to know a person a little more than he did before the feeling attached to things like love and forever. But he had never felt this way and as a 17-year-old boy he was entitled to some artistic liberty when it came to his own range of emotions.<br/>(In which Stiles works in the school library, Derek checks out some arguably rad books, and everyone is an absolute idiot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish I Was Special

Stiles Stilinski was falling in love.

Well, it probably wasn’t _love_. That was too big of a word. Love sounded so permanent, so dedicated and serious, and he was pretty sure you actually had to know a person a little more than he did before the feeling attached to things like love and forever. But he had never felt this way and as a 17-year-old boy he was entitled to some artistic liberty when it came to his own range of emotions.

Stiles was wary of romance because he had cripplingly low self-esteem while at the same time maintaining unattainably high standards. He hadn’t really had a crush on anyone since Lydia back in freshman year, but that simmered away when she and Jackson patched things up and he actually stopped being a dick to, like, everyone, and Stiles saw them together sharing a milkshake with their ankles crossed around each other’s and got this sickly fuzz of burning in his chest and realized, with a bit of a start and a few days of near-existential trauma that all he felt anymore was happiness (and, admittedly, a little envy) for the two of them.

But then when he was covering for Mrs. O’Connell behind the library desk during his C-Period free one day, crushing some unsuspecting online opponent at Words With Friends, someone walked up to the desk and gave a hand-muffled cough. Stiles was proud enough of himself when he didn’t toss his phone halfway across the room (seriously, nobody _ever_ checked anything out from the school library, he was allowed to be shocked) but then he looked up to a tight shirt-clad puberty-blessed tall-dark-handsome clutching _Invisible_ _Cities_ to his chest, and Stiles was just glad all he did was spill his Red Bull over his chickenscratch physics homework and not, like, propose marriage on the spot. The guy gave a sniff that could have either been a library-volume expression of sympathy or a pitying reminder of how out-of-Stiles’-league he was, but either way, when Stiles was mopping up his mess the guy glanced over at Stiles’ phone and offered up, “lurex.”  

“Sorry?” Stiles said, hands dripping and sticky.

“It’s a type of yarn. My sister knits a lot.”

“Yeah…?” Stiles said, wiping his shaking fingers on his jeans. The guy gave a sour face and gestured towards the still-running game of Words With Friends.

“It goes over a triple word score.”

Stiles sat stunned. He wasn’t sure whether to kiss the kid or smack him for coming up with a better answer than what Stiles had in mind (foxy, with which, for the record, Stiles still would have won). A pause hung between them, but then Stiles couldn’t keep from laughing.

“Thanks, man. My name is Stiles, by the way. Do you want me to check out that book? It’s phenomenal. It takes you out of your life. I, like, couldn’t move the whole time I was reading it. Left me in a stupor for pretty much a week after I read it - I didn’t even eat for the whole day. And Jesus knows how much curly fries mean to me.”

“Derek,” the guy said, eyes crinkling even though he wasn’t quite smiling. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Stiles may or may not have immediately clicked open his email and told Mrs. O’Connell that he would be free every day during C-Period to man the desk.

The next week Derek came in and checked out another book (it was Woolf, jesus, someone really was trying to kill Stiles). And he kept coming in. And checking out more books. Sometimes he offered up a few words, opinions about the books he’d read, and he listened when Stiles blurted out unrestrained critiques and extolations, and sometimes he sat in the corner of the library in a plush chair, rolling his lip between his teeth, reading with such intent that Stiles quickly gave up Words With Friends and just sat, Thinker-position, chin-on-fist, and questioned the way the blinking flutter of Derek’s eyelashes sent Stiles’ own heart into butterfly-wing motions.

So Stiles scanned his books and gave (hopefully somewhat) flirtatious little smiles and snippets of conversation and if he accidentally committed the name that popped up on the computer screen to memory, who could blame him?

 

...

 

His name was Derek Hale and when Stiles mentioned that fact to Scott it looked like his best friend was going to slap him.

“He broke Greenberg’s spine last season because he, like, was in the way during a game. And he didn’t stop to look back until he made the winning goal.”

“He plays lacrosse, too?” Stiles said. “Why have you been withholding his existence from me?”

“Dude, you’d have known him if you played lacrosse. You’re the one who decided to go for library club instead. Though I’m still not sure how that takes up so much time in your life. Is that even a real club?”

“I _am_ the library club, man. It’s great. Plus it’s not my fault that the librarians took this long to accept my alterations to the Dewey Decimal system! You know my new form of classification is practically revolutionary. But that’s beside the point, man. As the best friend of a single man you’re obligated to notify me when someone this adorable crosses your path.”

“Adorable? Did you not hear me? He broke Greenberg’s _spine_.”

“Yeah, it’s not his fault that he’s, like, a veritable Adonis. With rabbit teeth. And his ears sort of stick out. He checked out David Foster Wallace. And not just Infinite Jest - which, by the way, took him only two weeks to return - but then he came back for Consider the Lobster. So, like, either he’s a total closet nerd or he’s really trying to impress someone, and I’m definitely banking on the former.”

“Stiles,” Scott hissed, clenching his teeth, “he’s like the Hulk or something. He could break _your_ spine.”

Stiles huffed. “Well, Scott, if you really want to crush any chance I have at romance, go for it. I’ll be at home drowning in tearstained tissues if you want to find me. Just knock on the door and when my dad asks, tell him you’re looking for the guy who set you up with Allison Argent, who also goes by ‘I can’t detach my face from Scott McCall’s even though I’m, like, a thousand times out of his league.’ Seriously, you two make me sick.”

“Huh.” Scott said, his gaze over Stiles’ shoulder unfocused.

“Jesus, man, can you go  _two seconds_ without making your dreamy thinking-of-Allison face?” Stiles snapped his fingers an inch from Scott’s eyes. “Focus on me for a second, buddy. Come on. I’m going through a crisis.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know what? I think you should talk to him,” Scott said.

“Hey, I already do. Sort of. Don’t insult my flirtation tactics.”

Scott snorted and then patted Stiles on the back.

“It’s time for English,” Scott said, slinging an arm around Stiles’ shoulders as they stood. “Let’s go early so we don’t have to sit in the front again?”

“Hell yeah. There is no way I’m I ever going late to that class again. Being that close to Mr. Johnstone made me feel like I was a sponge. Honestly, I don’t know how Spongebob lives with himself. If he meets anyone with overworking salivary glands? Automatic job as a spit-deflector. And Squidward’s a clarinetist. They probably keep a lot of saliva stored up, plus he goes on those screaming rants all the--”

“Dude,” Scott said. “Chill. Play it cool. Remember what you told me when I asked for advice about Allison?”

“Stop flexing all the time because it makes you look like a tool?”

“Uh. No. You said to compose my thoughts before speaking.”

“Well, yeah, that was advice for you. That would be impossible for me. I think too much to actually sort everything out before I speak. It’s easier for your type.”

“Thanks a ton.”

“Anytime, buddy!” Stiles grinned, holding the classroom door wide open for Scott and bowing in his best impression of a butler.

“I’m only supporting you because I owe you. And because I love you, even though you’re a shithead. Remember that?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Stiles said. “Now onto Joyce. I call the seat by the window!”

 

…

Stiles was typing up his essay with a speed that could probably break world records, both for typing efficiency and level of enmity exuded while churning out a high school assignment. Stiles had avoided Mr. Johnstone’s salivary precipitation but he had not avoided one of the infamous day-before paper assignments, and as he wrote his eyes were squinted in fury. It was a perfect time for Derek to come up to the desk. Was that worry Stiles saw on his face? It would have been sweet, except that Stiles realized that the look of general concern probably came from a fear of rabies contagion, considering the red wrapped around Stiles’ fury-slash-exhaustion-squinted eyes.

“Hey,” Derek said, hesitant, as though he was venturing into some unknown, potentially dangerous new land.

“Hey, sorry, give me exactly forty-five seconds and I’ll check that book for you but I have to finish this one sentence.”

Fifty-four seconds later, Stiles looked up to a smiling -- and noticeably bookless -- Derek leaning his elbows on the librarian desk. Derek stopped smiling, and Stiles stopped staring in slight amazement, after a moment during which Stiles attempted to determine the color of Derek’s eyes.

“Do you think it would be out of line for me to write about how much bullshit it is for Mr. Johnstone to make us write about artistic expression while giving a twelve hour heads up? Because my essays are basically a form of art, when I have time to actually _write_ them. This is oppression.” Stiles sighed. “Anyway, what do you need?”

“I had a quick question, but you seem pretty busy so I’ll leave you to your essay.” Yeah, there was no mistaking it, there was a trace of something warm -- not quite affection, Derek wasn’t warm enough for Stiles to even pretend to read that deeply, but it definitely wasn’t neutral, either -- on Derek’s face. Stiles noticed his hands shaking so he began to gesture with the grace of a sloth, most closely resembling one woken from sleep by having its fingers’ grip slip from the tree branch, flailing wildly with the sudden speed in an attempt to restore previous comfort and order. Not that Stiles was used to comfort or order. This crush thing was turning him into a changed man.

“No, no, ask me anything! I am a treasure trove of information! Did you know there’s a species of jellyfish that’s immortal? And male llamas are born with an extra pair of fighting teeth so they can rip off other llama’s testicles - so they’re the only viable fertilizer around, you know?”

Stiles laughed. It sounded nervous. For once in his life, he regretted ignoring Scott’s advice.

To his surprise, Derek laughed too.

“Huh,” he said. “I don’t think I can top that.. Uh...I read somewhere that people with a lot of of moles tend to live longer than people with fewer moles.”

“My claim to fame!” Stiles said, knocking a stapler into the bin of return books. As he fished into the box, the bell started to ring, and Stiles jumped up.

“Shit! I didn’t finish my paper. I’m going to get killed. Murdered. Slaughtered. It'll be worse than a possible death-by-Harris's-hands. My dad is the _sheriff_. He has access to _firearms_. He probably has intricate connections to networks of assassins that he can use his law enforcement-position to manipulate into traceless hired killings. In other words, I'm doomed. Johnstone docks like ten points every second it’s late. I’m going to get a _B_. I can’t afford that in English!”

“Don’t worry,” Derek said, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to gain his attention. “Mr. Johnstone takes essays until the end of the school day. He just doesn’t tell anyone because he likes to grade during lunch.” 

Stiles definitely did not feel a warm imprint of fingers on his shoulder for the rest of the day. He wasn’t that pathetic. But, huh. He was really happy. Even his dad noticed that night at dinner, when Stiles was smiling to himself over a plate of broccoli. He took Stiles out for ice cream later just because, he said, some days were good days. It was true; Stiles felt really good, even if he knew that his dad was just attempting -- successfully -- to break the diet Stiles imposed upon him. It was Stilinksi tradition.

…

 

The next day Derek didn’t show up at the library. And then he wasn’t there for the rest of the week. The last book he’d checked out had been Sula; it shouldn’t have taken him so long to get through.

Stiles was sitting at the desk with his arms pretzeled into a pillow when there was a loud and painful clap on his back. He looked up to Scott’s grinning face, Allison’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm and Lydia standing by his side pursing her lips.

“Could you look any more miserable?” Lydia said. “I thought Scott’s predicament last year was bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your case of puppy love. You’re pining. It’s pathetic.”

“ _T’es en mal d'amour_ , Stiles.” Allison smiled, a bit wistful. “He’s in my French class, you know. I could talk to him for you.”

“Who? What? There’s nobody. Nope. No romantic interests for Stiles. Prudence is my middle name.”

The three stood and stared, unimpressed by his claims.

“Okay, fine, there is a certain someone who I am used to seeing in this library. Who may or may not have been absent for longer than I expected. Based on the book he was reading. Which I only know because, well, he reads good books. Unlike anyone else at this school. So of course I noticed. And I was really looking forward to what he had to say about it.” Satisfactory, Stiles thought. He definitely hadn’t dug himself into a hole with that.

“But you don’t actually talk to him about anything other than this library?” Lydia said.

“Well-” Stiles started, but Lydia interrupted him.

“That was rhetorical. Obviously you don’t. I know how bad you are at small-talk. Remember eighth grade, Stiles? You tried to start a conversation with me about rabbit sex - and don’t try to explain to me how interesting it is right now, I seriously don’t care.” Lydia twirled her hair around a finger. “In fact, I don’t really care much about your love life. But since you’re so down Scott came to me about this, I figure I can talk to him for you. Since you’re clearly not going to be capable of it.” 

“But I already talked to him for Stiles!” Scott said. Stiles, Allison, and Lydia all stopped and turned, slowly, like rusty clockwork, towards Scott.

“What? So that’s why I haven’t seen him for, like, a year? He’s avoiding me! He must think I’m an absolute creep. Thanks, man. You know that plan I had for you to visit me after I go home brokenhearted? Yeah. Let’s stick to that. Except this time my dad opens the door with his cop pistol pointed at your dumb face. Curse every one of my future attempts at romance. I’m never telling you anything again, Scott. Ever.” Stiles groaned and then snapped open the book next to him - _The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle_ , which Stiles had been planning to recommend to Derek, even though now he would never have the chance - and covered his face.

“Your dad’s the sheriff, not a cop.” Scott pointed out. Stiles smashed the book harder against his face.

“Scott,” Allison said. “What did you say to him? Yesterday you told me you saw him looking at Stiles like he was an angel from heaven. And now he’s playing hide-and-seek?”

“I mean, I might have implied that I noticed the death stare he gave when I put my hand on Stiles’ shoulder…” Scott said, “but I totally made it clear that it was, like, endearing or something! I don’t know! I was trying to help.”

“Made it clear? Scott,” Lydia said, “you are such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Allison said. “She’s right. You have to fix this.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> uh  
> title from Radiohead's Creep bc i'm artsy  
> sorry i suck at writing and life  
> i will be attempting to churn out a hopefully gleefully sticky and heartwarming-slash-sexy chapter 2 in soon-befalling times
> 
>  
> 
> my tumblr is smoothliet if you want to visit an incredibly irrelevant untrafficked boring blog!


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